CUPID MISTAKEN.
As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river,
Cupid a shooting went that way,
New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.
With skill he chose his sharpest dart,
With all his might his bow he drew,
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too well-guided arrow flew.
I faint! I die! (the goddess cried)
O cruel, couldst thou find none other
To wreck thy spleen on? Parricide!
Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.'
Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak; Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye:
Alas! how easy my mistake!
I took you for your likeness, Chloe.'
CUPID IN AMBUSH.
IT oft to many has successful been,
Upon his arm to let his mistress lean,
Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,
Or gently squeeze her knees, or press her feet.
All public sports, to favour young desire,
With opportunities like this conspire.
Even where his skill the gladiator shows,
With human blood where the Arena flows,
There, oftentimes, Love's quiver-bearing boy
Prepares his bow and arrows to destroy;
While the spectator gazes on the fight,
And sees them wound each other with delight;
While he his pretty mistress entertains,
And wagers with her who the conquest gains ;
Slily the god takes aim, and hits his heart,
And in the wounds he sees he bears his part.
His lamp, his bow, and quiver, laid aside,
A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders tied,
Sly Cupid, always on new mischief bent,
To the rich field and furrow'd tillage went;
Like any ploughman toil'd the little god,
His tune he whistled, and his wheat he sow'd;
Then sat and laugh'd, and to the skies above
Raising his eye, he thus insulted Jove:
'Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms restrain,
And, as I bid you, let it shine or rain,
Else you again beneath my yoke shall bow,
Feel the sharp goad, and draw the servile plough;
What once Europa was, Nannette is now.'
FROM ANACREON.
AT dead of night, when stars appear,
And strong Boötes turns the Bear,
When mortals sleep their cares away,
Fatigued with labours of the day,
Cupid was knocking at my gate;
'Who's there? (says I) who knocks so late,
Disturbs my dreams and breaks my rest?'
'O fear not me, a harmless guest,
(He said) but open, open pray;
A foolish child, I've lost my way,
And wander here this moonlight night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.'
With due regard his voice I heard,
Then rose, a ready lamp prepared,
And saw a naked boy below,
With wings, a quiver, and a bow:
In haste I ran, unlock'd my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my fate;
I set the child an easy chair
Against the fire, and dried his hair;
Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,
And warm'd his little hands with mine.
All this did I with kind intent,
But he, on wanton mischief bent,
Said, Dearest friend, this bow you see,
This pretty bow, belongs to me;
Observe, I pray, if all be right,
I fear the rain has spoil'd it quite :'-
He drew it then, and straight I found
Within my breast a secret wound.
This done, the rogue no longer stay'd,
But leap'd away, and laughing said,
'Kind host adieu, we now must part,
Safe is my bow, but sick thy heart.'
IN sullen humour one day Jove
Sent Hermes down to Ida's grove,
Commanding Cupid to deliver
His store of darts, his total quiver;
That Hermes should the weapons break,
Or throw them into Lethe's lake.
Hermes, you know, must do his errand; He found his man, produced his warrant : Cupid, your darts—this very hour,— There's no contending against power.' How sullen Jupiter, just now, I think I said; and you'll allow That Cupid was as bad as he; Hear but the youngster's repartee. 'Come, kinsman, (said the little god) Put off your wings, lay by your rod, Retire with me to yonder bower, And rest yourself for half an hour; 'Tis far, indeed, from hence to Heaven, But you fly fast, and 'tis but seven : We'll take one cooling cup of Nectar, And drink to this celestial Hector.
He break my darts, or hurt my power! He, Leda's swan, and Danae's shower! Go bid him his wife's tongue restrain, And mind his thunder and his rain. My darts! O, certainly I'll give them; From Chloe's eyes he shall receive them: There's one, the best in all my quiver, Twang! through his very heart and liver;
He then shall pine, and sigh, and rave;
Good Lord! what bustle shall we have!
Neptune must straight be sent to sea,
And Flora summon'd twice a day :
One must find shells, and t'other flowers,
For cooling grots and fragrant bowers;
That Chloe may be served in state,
The Hours must at her toilet wait;
Whilst all the reasoning fools below
Wonder their watches go too slow.
Lybs must fly south, and Eurus east,
For jewels for her hair and breast;
No matter though their cruel haste
Sink cities and lay forests waste:
No matter though this fleet be lost,
Or that lie wind-bound on the coast.
What whispering in my mother's ear!
What care that Juno should not hear!
What work among you scholar-gods!
Phoebus must write him amorous odes;
And thou, poor cousin, must compose
His letters in submissive prose;
Whilst haughty Chloe, to sustain
The honour of my mystic reign,
Shall all his gifts and vows disdain,
And laugh at your old bully's pain.'
'Dear coz, (said Hermes in a fright)
For Heaven's sake keep your darts: good night.'
|